


well well well

by Grace_28



Series: The Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy Cooks, Implied Top Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Workaholic Harry Potter, implied Bottom Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_28/pseuds/Grace_28
Summary: "Well, well, well... if it isn't the love of my miserable life?""Draco, we've been married for five years. Can you stop saying that every time I come home late?"Ignoring him, Draco took a sip from his glass.In other words, a glimpse several years into Harry's and Draco's marriage. (The third and long overdue part of "What Life Would Have Been Like If Voldemort Never Existed")
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889380
Comments: 18
Kudos: 269





	well well well

Draco casted a quick Tempus, his wine not doing its job properly. When Draco had made his quick escape from the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he'd wondered if Harry had finished up as well. Now, four hours after the time he should have finished, Draco regretted not sending out a search party for him.

As if on cue, the wards notified him of his husband's return.

Draco scowled. "Well, well, well... if it isn't the love of my miserable life?" he snapped when the door opened.

He was immediately replied with: "Draco, we've been married for five years. Can you stop saying that every time I come home late?"

Ignoring him, Draco took a long sip from his glass. Harry's husband of five years was sitting cross-legged on the loveseat in front of the fireplace, a non-biting book floating mid-air, as he absentmindedly petted their kitten, Missy. Missy— a white Persian who meows and scratches at everyone except for Draco, who insisted that it's because he refers to her by her real name, 'Missile Launcher'— was the latest addition to their family. Harry hung up his coat, taking his time in loosening his suffocating tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt.

Not even a minute later, Draco snapped. "Well?" he demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes and pressed a chaste kiss to Draco's temple. Missy scratched at his shirt. "You're so impatient."

"I know," Draco huffed. Then he wandlessly closed the book, set his glass down, and cradled Missy in one arm as he made his way to the kitchen. He placed Missy in her sleeping cradle, shooting a small burst of magic so it would rock gently on its own.

"Sorry," Harry grumbled, "about being late. It's not like I wanted to come back at nine."

Harry was the more clingier of the two of them, always sobbing whenever Draco had to meet with foreign ambassadors. Well, he didn't _sob_ but he came close to doing so once when Draco mentioned that he'd be gone for a week. After that, Harry, quite literally of course, attached himself to Draco's hip for two days. These additional four hours must have been incredibly painful for him.

"I know."

"When we came back to the office, there was an assload of paperwork on our desks."

'We' referring to him and Ron Weasley, of course. No superior would dare to add any paperwork to Hermione Granger, who had proven time and time again that she knows more hexes and curses than they do. Once, Harry'd told Draco, Hermione came back after a particularly difficult case to a mountain of paperwork and reports of Muggle sightings. She threw her resignation letter in Senior Cursebreaker Hennesy's face and demanded that he did some work of his own instead of expecting her to do everything. Not even a week later, she'd gotten her job back and a promotion.

Ron and Harry tried doing the same, but Senior Auror Kingsley stared them both down before they even started speaking. Luckily, Senior Auror Kingsley was an already fair man but, unluckily, Harry enjoyed piling his paperwork until the end of the week.

"Figured that much."

"And I knew that the pile would be even bigger on Monday so I just-"

"Merlin's beard, paperwork is always going to pile up," Draco snapped. He set a plate on the table. With that, he turned back to Harry, who was still looking at the floor with a guilty expression. Draco sighed and made his way over. "Harry, I'm not pissed because you came home late. I know how much you love your job and that you love working I can smell the still-full container, which means that you didn't even take a break the entire day."

"I was busy," Harry insisted.

Draco pressed a cool hand to his cheek. Harry leaned into it, his green eyes droopy as they met Draco's silver ones. "Taking a five minute break isn't so bad, love."

"I know. I just can't help it though," Harry mumbled.

Draco nodded solemnly, knowing all too well how much of a workaholic Harry becomes in June. Convinced that he wouldn't feel guilty if he was simply too busy to, Harry had thrown himself into his job every year. He works until nine, forgetting to take a break and to eat, and he loses weight as if it's a goddamn competition. The moment May 2nd passes, Harry pretends like nothing every happened. This routine had gotten on Draco's nerves. That is, until they started dating and Draco woke up to Harry's horribly muffled whimpers.

"It's alright, Harry. Once you've washed up, come to the dining table, alright? Missile Launcher had insisted on Tartiflette and white chocolate scones."

Harry chuckled. "Stop blaming Missy for everything. She loves snapperfish. Besides, those two are your favorites."

"Well, she also insisted on having treacle tart, but I suppose you're going to pass on a slice," Draco huffed.

Eyes darkening, Harry turned and headed towards the bathroom like he was a man on a mission. "Don't touch anything without me."

A mission of devouring treacle tart.

Draco laughed, shaking his head in amusement as he unpacked the lunch and snacks Harry left uneaten. He poured some more wine— _Amarone_ is certainly the perfect companion for this dish— into his glass, sipping from it silently as he recalled the details of the book he'd been reading. What an interesting thing, a recollection of Muggle war, it is. Draco wondered if any of the old men still wake up in the middle of the night and blame themselves for the deaths of their fellow comrades.

"You're eating with me?" Harry asked as he stepped out the bathroom in his sleeping garments. It would have sounded questioning if his eyes weren't trained on Draco's exposed collarbone. Instead, Harry's question sounded more like a demand than an inquiry.

"Apparently, it's never been my style to leave you in peace," Draco drawled lazily

"Right." Harry laughed. He sits down, smiling softly at the dish in front of him. "I love you."

Draco rolled his eyes, taking a seat himself. Seriously— "Potter, if you're not going to stop talking to your dinner like it's your husband, I'm going to steal your portion."

"Now, now, Draco. No need to throw a hissy fit," Harry teased. Then he looked down to his cheese-y plate. "Don't listen to him. He's just jealous."

"Inanimate objects don't feel emotions," Draco dead-panned, chomping down on his potato.

"Don't say that in front of my dinner!"

"Well, if you don't finish it soon, the treacle tart's going to harden."

Harry's expression turned grim. "Understood." Then looking at his plate, Harry said, "Thank you for your sacrifice, Tartiflette."

Draco hid his smirk behind his hand as Harry took a bit of his own.

"Anyways, how did the case go? Did you catch him? Yaxley?" Draco asked curiously.

Yaxley was one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban a week ago. All departments had their eyes set on catching all of them and Harry and Ron were assigned to track Yaxley down. Draco, who had remembered his disgusting and awful breath, supported them both and offered all the information he'd known about Yaxley and his safe-manors. Harry exploded a lightbulb when he heard that Yaxley was a specialist in developing new dark curses.

He probably realized that Draco had been one of those unfortunate test subjects.

"We found him alright," Harry responded. Then his eyes brightened. "Remember that spell Barty Crouch Jr. cast on you in fourth year?"

Draco scowled darkly at that reminder. It was a painful, and Draco would never wish the same upon anyone—

"Ron transfigured Yaxley into a rat!" Harry exclaimed.

— unless they were a wizard who tortured him.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was awesome!" Harry continued. "We apparated back to the Ministry with a convict in Ron's pocket."

Draco smiled in amusement. "And you didn't get injured, right?"

"Well, I did, but dittany worked pretty good. I don't even feel it anymore."

"Of course you don't," Draco sighed. He _accio_ 'd a spare healing potion. "Drink up, love. Don't go bleeding on the sheets again—"

Wiggling his eyebrows, Harry said, "I know. Not the kind of liquid you want on the bed."

"You won't be allowed to spill any liquid if you don't shut the fuck up," Draco replied kindly.

Harry took a swing.


End file.
